Janet's Blog

When we stepped out of church on Christmas Eve, it was snowing.  I don't remember the last time we had snow for Christmas.  This time, there was just enough snow to be beautiful, but not so much that driving was impeded for Christmas travelers--a perfect white Christmas! I wonder why a white Christmas seems so special, and almost expected, to make Christmas everything it should be here in America.  It's kind of like the icing on a cake--it's the final touch to make an already special occasion seem nearly perfect. Just the thought of a white Christmas makes many of us feel nostalgic about Christmases in the past.  When I think of a white Christmas, my mind travels back to that snowy Christmas Eve in Norfolk when I was about six years old.  When we came home after the children's Christmas service, the crisp air had that unique smell of snow as the gently falling flakes tickled my cheeks. Or, I think back even further, when we still lived on the farm near Bloomfield. 

Too busy to write in my blog.  No time to think, let alone write.  Too many programs and parties.  Shopping, wrapping, a little baking, eating, sharing good times with friends and family.  Practicing with the worship team for Christmas Eve--that's never a chore.  More shopping, more food and fun.  Are the preparations done yet?  When can I stop to breathe?  The excitement continues to build.  We might have a rare white Christmas!  Look at all those presents under the tree!  No, Levi, you can't open one yet! Why must the Christmas season be so cram-packed?  Why don't we spread it out a little bit?  Sometimes, I wish we could celebrate St. Nicholas Day on December 6, as they do in some European countries, and get our gift-giving out of the way then, so we could concentrate more on Christmas itself as a special time to celebrate Jesus' birth.  On second thought, I suppose the day after Halloween would become the new "Black Friday," merely prolonging the frenzy.

I've been writing Christmas letters for years.  Okay, sometimes, I skip a year and, often, my letters arrive after Christmas.  A couple of years ago, I sent an Easter letter instead.  No one seemed to mind.  In fact, some people commented about how refreshing it was to receive a letter at a time when few other people send them. Christmas, 2012 Sometimes, I wonder if Christmas cards and letters will soon become faint memories of a simpler time when  people communicated via pen and paper rather than electronically.  And then, I wonder if it really matters, as long as people make some effort to keep in touch.  I certainly appreciate my Facebook connections, because I can keep up with people's everyday lives much better than I would without Facebook.  And, I love the photos people post there. This year, I am going to try something new.  I'm going to compose this letter here on my blog, then send it via "snail mail" to friends and relatives who are not able to r

Did you ever notice that there are no stores in science fiction movies?  No malls, no supermarkets, no Wal-Mart.  For that matter, there are no libraries either, no gas stations or convenience stores, no churches.  It's kind of funny, though, that most science fiction has some version of a bar.  And, of course, nearly all science fiction features high-tech weapons, and various forms of personal transportation and intricate communication devices.  Most travel occurs at warp speed throughout the vast, unknown universe.  However, locals often walk, rarely venturing too far beyond their home turf. In the world of science fiction, life is broken down into the basics; survival skills are essential.  People and aliens harvest their own food or, at the other end of the spectrum, consume oddly fabricated nutrients prepared technologically at the touch of a button.  Medical care is non-invasive, instantaneous, and usually free--or, in some cases, it is non-existent.  After all, even the be

     When Levi first joined our family, at the age of four, he was obsessed with the story of the Gingerbread Man.  "Run, run, as fast as you can; you can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man!"  Levi was determined to learn how to draw one.  I spent hours with him, instructing him in the finer details of gingerbread men.  He practiced over and over, until he was finally able to draw a passable gingerbread man without any coaching from me.  For more than a year, he drew countless gingerbread characters, of endless varieties, sizes, and colors; painstakingly, he cut each one out.  He constructed gingerbread men out of playdough.  We baked and frosted gingerbread cookies.  For a while, our house was littered with faux gingerbread figures.  Now, four years later, I'll bet I could still find some if I looked carefully in the right places. Eventually, Levi moved on to bigger and better subjects--robots, ninjas, science fiction characters.  Drawing was not easy

E ach of us is born with a hole inside.  From the time we first enter this world, until the day we die, people try to fill that hole with many things;  knowledge, work, play, friendships, relationships, even drugs and alcohol.  It's the reason so many people have too much stuff.  It's why so many people seem driven in their quest for pleasure, and why others seek fulfillment in their jobs.  It's why so many seemingly sane adults flit from one unsatisfying relationship to another.  It's the reason for the rampant drug addiction and alcoholism in our world.  No matter how hard we try to fill the hole, nothing seems to fit just right.  That's why many people are left with a tremendous yearning for something more.  Only one Person can fill that God-sized hole inside each one of us.  "And you also are among those who are called to belong to Jesus Christ." Romans 1:6 This Thanksgiving, and as we get ready to head into the Christmas season,  I am so thank

I grew up in the Lutheran Church (Missouri Synod), where worship is often methodical and always liturgical.  In many Lutheran churches, a hymn is considered new if it is less than a hundred years old.  Pipe organs are considered to be the best instruments to accompany worship because, as I once read in a Lutheran publication, the pipe organ is the instrument that most closely imitates the human voice. When a pipe organ is unavailable, an electronic organ is used, although somewhat reluctantly, because electronic organs are the instruments that most closely resemble pipe organs!  It took me a long time to realize that most forms of worship are at least partly cultural in origin. When I think about it, I realize that Lutheran worship, in some churches, has changed very little in the past five hundred years because some German Lutherans don't really like change.  It has less to do with the Lutheran aspect than it has to do with that stubborn German way of doing things.  (I'm ent

Growing up in the Hotel Mary-Etta produced one unexpected side effect for me: I feel a bit claustrophobic in small spaces, especially those with low ceilings and small windows, or no windows at all..  Our apartment at the Mary-Etta was quite large, with a big living room and several tall windows.  My furniture-filled bedroom was not especially spacious, since I shared it with Laura; however, it had a large window that expanded the space, almost inviting the great outdoors into the room. The common areas of the hotel were all huge, with windows that stretched  from just a couple of feet off the floor clear to the lofty ceiling, high above.  When I think of the hotel, I can still see the morning summer sun streaming into the east windows of the Gold Room.  I think of the second floor laundry room, which was also a rather large, sun-lit room, cluttered with toys so my brother and sister and I had something to do while Mom was ironing sheets on the mangle.  I remember the huge kitchen at

The election is looming near--at last.  I'm tired of negative ads and frequent recorded phone messages.  I'm tired of hearing otherwise reasonable people rant about all that's wrong with our country and our candidates.  I'm tired of hearing the candidates themselves bash each other instead of speaking up to present real, workable solutions for our nation's problems.  I'm tired of feeling like I have to choose between the lesser of two (or more) evils. I'm really rather apolitical.  That doesn't mean I'm not aware of the issues, because I am.  It doesn't mean I don't care what happens, because I do.  Like most people I know, I want what is best for our country.  It's just that the large variety of people, in this melting pot that we call America, have an equally large number of opinions about what is right and wrong, and many of them are not shy about presenting their viewpoints as if their own opinions trump those of anyone else. It s

  It was a gorgeous day for a parade!  Ten different bands, wearing their school colors proudly, competed for trophies.  Following in her older sisters' footsteps, Victoria marched in the Old West Band competition today for the first time. She has marched in a parade before, but this was the first time she marched in her full band uniform.  T-shirts and shorts are the accepted attire for the hot, July Oregon Trail Days parade.  Warm, wool uniforms are best worn for fall parades. Heads were held high, plumes adorning each marcher's hat.  Instruments were held steady as band members marched to the steady drum cadence.  Drum majors blew their whistles; instruments were up, and the band played together loudly, proudly, as they marched in front of the judges' stand. Spectators clapped politely as each band marched by.  People cheered enthusiastically for their hometown bands.  Marchers didn't miss a beat.  Staring straight ahead, each one concentrated on the da

Wooden wagons were pulled by horses, mules, or oxen, and boats were propelled by oars or sails.  Fish were caught with nets; fresh game was trapped or shot with bows and arrows or slingshots.  Houses and other buildings were constructed using rather crude hand tools, and were built of natural materials--mud blocks or clay bricks, thatched roofs, or caves dug into the side of a hill.  It was not unusual for mothers and their babies to die in childbirth.  Most women were grandmothers by the time they were thirty-five; women who lived into their forties were old.  Sanitation was nearly non-existent; indoor plumbing was unheard of for most people.  Medical care was basic at best.  People all over the world arose with the sun and went to bed soon after the sun set at night.  Most people lived and died within a few miles of the places where they were born.  That's the way life was, for thousands of years. Then, in the fifteenth century, Johannes Gutenberg invented the printing press. 

Meagan was nearly nine years old when we got our first cat.  I remember that, because it happened at the beginning of our first summer in this house, right after she broke her arm while vaulting over the pommel horse in gymnastics.  That injury effectively ended Meagan's gymnastics career, and nearly ruined her summer--no more gymnastics, no softball, no skating or biking, no swimming.  It was only a couple of days after the injury when I took the girls out to look at Erin's friend's kittens.  Bill and I had talked about getting a kitten, but he was out of town when we found out about those kittens, so he was a little surprised when he came home to meet our beautiful new calico kitten, named Libby.  The kitten officially belonged to Erin, since Meagan had already reserved a puppy from another friend's litter.  However, Meagan spent many days that summer just cuddling with the kitten on the couch while her arm slowly healed.  Bill always said that he wasn't a cat p

First snow of the season, right on schedule.  I think we get more snow in October, here in western Nebraska, than in December.  Some winters, it seems like most of our snow falls in October and March.  This year, we'll take moisture any time, in any form.  Perhaps the .35 of an inch of precipitation that came with this storm will boost our yearly total above the six inch mark.  That's still well below normal, but we'll take it. The rain and snow we've had in the past week or two will water in the winter wheat for the farmers.  It should also prevent some range fires.  It was a bit of a shock to have below freezing temperatures so early in October, after so many months of scorching heat, but I think that the cooler weather is a relief for many of us.  This week's frost will kill most outdoor allergens, and the moisture has washed the air nice and clean, so asthma sufferers like me should be able to breathe easier.  My preschoolers equate s

There are a significant number of people who would say that my trust in God is a crutch, a kind of dependence, or even weakness, that they can do without.  How my heart aches for them!  I can no more do without God than I can live without air to breathe or pure water to drink. I'll admit that there have been some difficult times in my life when I've tried to live without God.  I was miserable.  I had no peace.  I had no real help for my troubles.  Life lost its flavor.  My joy was gone.  I had no choice--I surrendered myself to God again because, with him, life is good. I don't know how people survive in this world without God's grace.  In the last week alone, I've seen several examples of God's loving care for the people I know.  He heard his people's pleas, and provided rain for the parched earth.  He melded together the music of new and veteran musicians, gently nudging them to lead his people in praise.  He provided safety for those who traveled.  He

It is such a joy to watch children grow.  Every time I see my grandson, Toby, it seems like he can do even more than he could the last time I saw him.  Right now, he is learning to walk, a little ahead of schedule by most people's reckoning.  He practices, over and over, day after day, and slowly, almost imperceptibly, his walking skills are improving.  It won't be long until he takes off--soon, he'll be able to walk anywhere he wants, unassisted. In the almost fourteen years that I've been teaching preschool, and even before that, when I taught kindergarten and elementary school, I've been privileged to watch hundreds of children grow.  Most grow normally, reaching milestones right on schedule.  A few, like Toby, are driven to learn some new skills as quickly as they can.  And, a few more have to work very long and very hard to reach even basic milestones.  Some children, through no fault of their own, are never able to do the things that most of us take for gr

It's that time of year again--football season!  And, throughout Nebraska, so many people are wildly, madly passionate about their Huskers--and here in the panhandle, about the Denver Broncos, too.  Football fever spills over into the local venues, as well, with whole communities coming out to support their local high school football teams.  Football draws people together every fall.  As the temperatures finally begin to moderate, and evenings are downright chilly, people gather together for tailgate parties and televised games.  Houses and businesses throughout the state fly their teams' flags proudly. I still remember attending my first high school football game when I was a freshman.  That may have been the year that Husker fever exploded throughout our state; until then, no one paid much attention to Nebraska football games, which were never televised, anyway.  Until then, I hadn't really watched any football games on TV, so I knew very little about the game.  I had

At school this week, I've been reading stories about apples and apple picking time.  In the cooking center, our preschoolers have made apple animals and squirmy, wormy apples.  We've talked about the life cycle of an apple, from bud to blossom, blossom to apple, apple seed to tree and back to buds again.  The children have been fascinated to learn that apples aren't always red, and that they don't really appear magically in the grocery store's produce aisles. An apple animal--a preschooler's creation Twenty-five years ago, Bill and I lived in a small house, not too far from our current home, with a large, old apple tree in the yard.  Most years, it didn't produce a single apple, but one year, when Erin was a preschooler and Meagan was just a baby, we had so many apples that we invited our friends over to help pick them.  We gave away baskets of sweet-smelling apples.  They weren't red; I remember them as being rather small, misshapen, yellow apples.

The world is full of stupendous, larger than life, amazing wonders, some made by people, and some made by God alone.  They nearly take our breath away--majestic cathedrals, the Olympics, the Statue of Liberty and the Grand Canyon, the Great Wall of China, football stadiums filled with cheering fans, Disney World, the endless ocean.  The list could go on and on. Sometimes, though, it's the littlest things that matter most:  the Bible, a wedding ring, a newborn baby.   And some of the best things are intangible, untouchable, like the faint rainbow after a brief summer thunderstorm, a gentle breeze, a glorious sunset, the starry night sky, an evening stroll with someone you love, a song, a smile, and those three little words that mean so much but are often left unsaid. It's true--"good things come in small packages," or, perhaps, the best things can't be wrapped up in a box at all.   "And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love.  But the greatest o

Last night was our first fall choir practice.  I think that my son-in-law, the choir director, decided to try out one of his high school mixer activities before using it with his English and German students tomorrow on their first day of school.  I wasn't the only one who groaned at Andy's suggestion that we mingle and ask several of our fellow choir members some questions, so we could get to know each other better.  We asked and answered only three questions:  What is your favorite song?  What was your favorite class in high school or college?  What is your favorite hobby? It wasn't a bad activity.  In fact, it was kind of nice to find out a little more about the people we sit next to, week after week, as we fine-tune the songs we'll sing for Sunday worship services. It's just that I have trouble coming up with only one favorite for any category.  Even when I was a young child, I couldn't choose just one favorite color.  By the time I was in high school, I

We didn't get to spend as much time with Grandma and Grandpa Vawser as we did with our other grandparents every summer, because Grandma Vawser worked pretty much full time in the grocery store.  However, we usually spent a day or two with them in Norfolk, on the way to or from our week-long visit in Bloomfield.  I can remember two times, though, when Grandma took us camping! The first time we went camping, Grandma took Aunt Marilyn and eight or ten of us grandchildren, probably between the ages of five and sixteen, to TaHaZouka, a park on the south edge of Norfolk.  It was the same park where I had attended Girl Scout day camp a few years earlier, when we still lived in Norfolk.  At that time, the park's small zoo included some black bears, and several peacocks that spread their tails whenever we clapped for them.  The Elkhorn River meandered through the park, too, providing a place for fishing and wading for those who were feeling adventurous.  Grandpa drove the pickup cam

When I hear the gentle cooing of mourning doves, I am immediately transported back to my childhood, to those balmy summer mornings in Bloomfield.  After we moved to Fairbury, Dan, Laura, and I spent at least a week of every summer with Grandpa and Grandma Wegner.  When I was six, they bought the only home they ever owned, a small bungalow on the east edge of town.  Grandpa built a wishing well in the back yard, and a two-car garage.  His lawn was immaculate.  Grandma raised beautiful flowers, including the snowball bushes that I loved, and gorgeous African violets that bloomed prolifically inside, near her dining room window. Grandma and Grandpa slept in the only downstairs bedroom, which opened just off the living room.  In the summers, Laura and I usually had one, large upstairs bedroom to ourselves, while Dan got the other one.  But, if Uncle Gary or Aunt Ellen were there, or if Mom stayed part of the time, one of us got to sleep on the "stick bed," an old army cot with

During times of tremendous tragedy, many people turn to God in prayer.  We plead with him, entreating him to make things better, to heal the sick and injured, and to comfort those who have suffered great loss.  I've heard it said that "there are no atheists in foxholes."  This means, simply, that in the toughest times, many people turn to God for the help they need, when they know that everything is totally hopeless without him.  For a short while, anyway, it seems as if everyone becomes aware that God is ultimately in control.  And, he is!  It's so easy for people to be self-sufficient, turning to God only when things go wrong.  God remains in charge all the time, though, even when everything seems to be going well.  I am convinced that he wants each of us to have a lasting relationship with him, not just during hard times, but all the time. God is not a heavenly good luck charm, ready to be pulled out to help us only when we think we really need him.  He isn'

Whoever thought that it would be such a great risk to simply attend a midnight movie premier?  It's just good, family fun, right?  Hundreds of people in Aurora, Colorado, didn't think that their behavior, two nights ago, was at all risky.  But now the story is all over the news, about how one deranged man did so much more than just ruin a fun family activity.  In a few agonizing minutes, he terrorized the young theater audience, killing a dozen people and wounding dozens more. I'm sure that it is statistically more dangerous for me to drive my car than it is to attend a movie.   We are a very trusting society.  I trust that the food I buy in the local supermarket is safe to eat.  I trust that the water that gushes from my faucet is pure enough to use for washing and drinking.  I trust that our family doctors will prescribe safe medications, and that pharmacists will fill those prescriptions appropriately.  I trust that drivers will stop at pedestrian crossings when I w